


Taming a Monster

by asapaints



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Animal Death, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Claw Gloves, Danger Kink, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Facials, Fear Play, Frottage, Gags, Light Bondage, Love Bites, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, PWP, Piercings, Predator/Prey, Quickies, Scratching, Shotgunning, Slasher Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Smoking, Transmasculine Reader, Vaginal Sex, primal play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asapaints/pseuds/asapaints
Summary: A killer lurks in the woods outside of your small town, and unfortunately for your self-preservation instinct, that's kind of hot.
Relationships: Slasher: 76/Reader, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 97





	1. Into the Mouth of the Crocodile

You’d seen the news stories. You’d heard the whispers of the locals. You knew the risks.

The bodies had been piling up since a few months ago, when the monster had first been spotted. Memorial cards from the only funeral home in the county could be found littered around town, shredded from being stuck to boots and blown into mud by the wind. Their blurry monotone faces and swirling fonts blended together as the number of names printed on them grew seemingly immeasurable.

The waitresses at the local diner gossiped in hushed tones about the man they saw at the edge of the woods, his mask glowing like embers in the cold darkness. _”He burned like fire,”_ they would murmur, _”steam comin’ off him like heat from a truck’s roof in summer.”_

The newspapers published phone-camera photos of the masked man peering out from between tree branches. A torn piece of blood-stained orange fabric found by children playing at the park had been taken in by the police as evidence. One of the local teenagers bragged about finding one of the nails that was hammered into his body, and rumor had it that they were charging a fee for people to see it with their own eyes.

The hopeful would claim he was surely supernatural, that no mortal would be responsible for this. Surely the evil that prowled their streets was a ghost, a guilty abstract culprit that could be cast away with candles and salt. Your small town had been brought to praying, begging knees. Whatever was out there killed people, people with lives and friends and passions and futures.

All of this, you knew. And it should have horrified you.

But you’d seen the blurry photographs, the police sketches, the crime scene press releases - and instead of fear, you found yourself feeling...something else.

Was it humanity? Was it hope? Some fleeting glimmer of a person with the capacity to love behind the grainy images of a glowing mask and torn clothes?

Or maybe, a dangerous part of you thought, it was the risk itself. The lust for sticking your hand into the mouth of the crocodile and feeling around its teeth. You wanted to pry back the gums of the wolf and cut your fingertip on his canines. You wanted to be in that bear trap, under that machete, at the point of that knife.

Maybe you could change him with a lust so intense he finds passion in you instead of in blood. Or maybe you couldn’t. Did it even matter? You weren’t sure who was being rescued in your fantasies, you or him, but the thought made your head spin nonetheless.

You knew the risks perfectly well, which is why you found yourself at the edge of the woods at midnight with the brightest flashlight you could find, scanning the horizon line wildly as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

Every movement you caught in your peripheral vision made you jump. Every snap of a twig sent electricity through you. Any moment, the killer who had slaughtered your neighbors could appear. It was horrifying, a waking nightmare for any rational person - and yet, exhilarating, like you were finally alive, as adrenaline coursed through your veins and blood rushed to your face.

A rustle in the distance made you whip around, turning your flashlight’s beam to a grouping of trees. Your eyes struggled against the dark forms for a moment, scanning for your prize, when your breath suddenly hitched.

There, in between two elms, was a person.

It was him. His eyes glowing like arson. The steam rising from him like smoke from wreckage.

Your legs told you desperately to run. You were shaking like a dry leaf. Sweat beaded down your back.

He took a step towards you. He was holding a chainsaw. His hand was on the starter cord.

“W-wait!” You cried, stumbling backwards. Curse your tongue for tying in knots.

He stepped towards you further, undeterred. He was so real, far more real than you’d expected his presence to feel.

“I’m not-” You said, desperately trying to recall the lines you’d rehearsed in your head. “You’re-”

He was getting close. You tripped and fell, stumbling onto your back.

“I-I want to-” You stuttered, tears forming in your eyes. “Please, listen-”

He stepped onto the space directly in front of you, his eyes truly like wildfires from this close up. The heat coming off his body was so palpable you could feel it through your clothes and the painful amount of air between your skin and his.

“Please,” You repeated, “I’m here because- I just-”

The way he stood over you, you’d think he was 7 stories tall. He took up so much space, more space than you thought was physically possible. He looked down at you with such an intensity, and yet with no emotion readable behind the mask at all. It only made your stomach alight even more.

“Please, please, I-” You cried, sinking into the ground. “I don’t care what you do with me, just, please, I want you- Please- F-fuck me-”

He paused. The atmosphere felt fragile like glass, the sound of your ragged breath loud as a jet engine.

“I-I’m not armed,” You said desperately, wrestling off your jacket. “Look, see- I-I promise, I came here for- for you-”

His chainsaw dropped to the ground. He grabbed you by the front of your shirt, hoisting you in the air and slamming you against the tree behind you. All of the air left your lungs on impact. His raw knuckles bore into your chest as he gripped you, his narrow orange eyes looking wildly into yours. He forcefully hitched your legs onto his waist. You whined involuntarily, entirely sure your entire body would catch on fire despite the cold night air, feeling yourself melt into his control.

He burrowed into your neck, which you gladly leaned into. Thoughts of his teeth sinking into your flesh flashed wildly in your brain, but his mask stood between you and your fantasy. Instead, his hot breath threatened to leave burns on your skin, feeling like flames licking your throat raw.

His entire torso pressed against you hard, the leather of his jacket making contact with every inch of you possible. It hit you how strongly of smoke he smelled, like a raging forest fire, burning pine trees and scorched earth. His jacket was the musky scent of leather, all worn and cracking.

His strong hands slipped under your shirt and gripped your lower back, fingertips digging in so hard you hoped it would leave bruises. These were hands that pulled triggers, plunged knives, ended lives - and now, they were holding you. The chain around his arm pinched your skin as he shifted, breathing heavily onto you. He could do anything to you like this. You were so prone, so open, putting your entire self in his control, both physically and mentally. He held you against the tree just as firmly as he held your life in his hands, like a lion holding a mouse in its jaws. No matter what way he was going to eat you, you would relish in it.

 _”Please,”_ You thought, your mind racing a million miles an hour, _”just stay like this, just for a moment longer, please..._

If he could read your mind, he was ignoring your request. He hiked your shorts down with a tug, revealing your wet entrance. He wasted no time in pressing his calloused thumb to the head of your testosterone-enhanced clit, running it down the middle to spread your lips. It was so much all at once, you felt like you were going to pass out. Bolts of electricity were firing wildly in your gut.

He unbuttoned his pants and let out his own hardened cock, which he gave a few quick strokes. You braced against the tree as hard as you could, pleading and praying that he wouldn’t let you off easy.

He aligned his hips, the head of his dick agonizingly faint against you. He glanced at you, his cold eyes’ expression unchanged.

“Y-yes,” You choke, “Please-”

His cock slid inside you, slick with how ragingly turned on you were. He was so thick, you already felt full to the point of bursting.

He pressed into you again, thrusting his hips against you without a moment of hesitation. Your hands searched for somewhere to grab onto as you gasped, finding the back of his jacket and gripping hard.

Your head buried into his chest, you felt the ridges of his chest scars against your face, wanting so badly to be so bold as to kiss them, but somehow feeling the act was too...intimate, somehow. He was fucking you so raw, the thought of anything being tender about this was completely foreign.

Your lips grazed metal, realizing it was a bolt embedded into his collarbone. A shiver ran up his entire body as you did, his grip flexing on you. You cautiously brushed against it again, testing his reaction - his thrust into you bucked wildly, which confirmed it. That felt good to him. You could make him feel good. Your thoughts raced as you carefully breathed onto the bolt, picturing playing your fingertips along all of the piercings his body had to offer; gently pressing on the nails that protruded from his bandaged leg, screwing tighter the metal restraint on his wrist, exploring beneath his jacket to find more bits of metal... You summoned your courage and licked a broad stripe across the warm steel bolt.

He let out a long breath, sounding like the purr of an alligator. You could feel your back sliding down the tree to the ground as his weight sunk into you. Your back touched the ground as he fully pressed into you, his hands slipping to your upper waist to hold you still.

You’d been trying to stay quiet for fear of being discovered, but you couldn’t hold back a whine of pleasure as you felt the length of him slide in and out, the visceral wet slapping sound surely being loud enough to alert anyone nearby anyway. The pace was too rapid to appreciate all of his subtle ridges, but he was curved in just the right way to hit all the right spots. His own ragged breathing was giving way to growl-like sighs that made your heart sing - you were pretty sure that he was already getting close.

It felt perfect, like you’d dreamed it would be: all rough, sweaty, and desperate. Maybe his solitary lifestyle had made him as achingly blueballed as yours did, and the mutual desperation was the reason it felt so fucking good. Or maybe, tantalizingly, his key just happened to fit perfectly into your lock.

It dawned upon you with a sudden jolt of electricity that you were also agonizingly close. You’d never cum from just penetration before, but then again, you’d never had sex like this either.

“Don’t stop…” You breathed, clutching onto his jacket as hard as possible.

Your legs tightened around him, toes curling instinctively. You couldn’t help bucking against him, even with his strong hands holding you firmly to the ground. Every muscle in your body clenched, tightening around his dick. The spring inside of you was coiled so tightly, you could barely stand it, your mind filled with no thoughts except pleasure. With a wave of emotion, you unraveled, feeling yourself floating on air, your vision going hazy.

“Fuck-” You breathed, biting your lip.

He didn’t relent, riding you through your orgasm.

Your brain was fuzzy, only being able to see vague colors and shapes in the low light. Your legs felt like jelly, trying to stay wrapped around him. He was so close, you could sense it. Breathing heavily, you felt your mouth sloppily around his collarbone, finding his piercing and pressing your tongue to it.

That did the trick. With a sharp inhale, he pulled out, arching his back, still thrusting as he came onto your stomach.

You watched with reverence. Your eyes were still swimming, but you could just make out his closed eyes from behind the mask, and the sight was beautiful.

He collapsed on top of you, breathing hotly into your ear. He was so much larger than you, letting his full weight crush you into the ground, but you could think of no sensation you’d rather feel right now. You imagined that being laid on by a hibernating bear would feel similar - dangerous, and perilously heavy, but comforting in an indescribable way. Even his vulnerable state of recovery felt volatile. His body was so hot, so encompassing, so dominating, even as he shakily regained his breath.

With a long, slow breath, he raised himself from you, and you felt the sudden lightness to be unbearably empty. You wished he would crush you, make you feel destroyed, just for a moment longer.

He raised onto his feet, standing over you - it was an amazing angle for him. He buttoned his pants and picked up his chainsaw, turning away from you.

“You...you aren’t going to…” You breathed, feeling your heart hammer against your ribcage. 

You couldn’t finish your sentence, letting the sentiment linger in the air. You’d known the risks of this. You knew there was a chance that after he fucked you, he would make your image into another blurrily printed memorial card. You didn’t want that, god, you wanted to keep living, to replay this memory over and over again - but you’d known the risks.

He didn’t turn to look at you. The steam rose from his mask in plumes, wafting into the night sky.

“Come back.” He said, his low growling voice a straight shot of whiskey.

You wanted so desperately to hear more commands from that voice.

“...y-yes,” You panted. “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not christian but I feel like apologizing to jesus. sorry jesus


	2. The Wolf and the Deer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes blood, mild/referenced gore, and depictions of a dead animal.

The entire day afterwards had been a blur. Nothing felt quite real, going back to a semblance of normality after such an experience. Every person you came in contact with was nerve wracking, being consumed with the paranoia that they would somehow know what you’d done in the night, and who you’d done with it. But somehow, through the paranoia, you felt...excited. You had stumbled through the day on autopilot, your brain occupied with one thought: you were going to meet him again that night.

 _”Come back”_ , he’d said, his words echoing in your head.

His voice really was like crushed velvet, all rough yet smooth. It was everything you’d hoped it would be and more. The whole thing was, really. You wanted to get fucked into oblivion and walk away, which not only happened, but with the promise of dick appointment two? How did you get so lucky?

Your night with him had been so hasty, like if he didn’t finish fast enough you would disappear like melting ice. You wanted so desperately to have something indulgent, to explore every inch of him. Maybe tonight you would be so lucky.

Your best guess was to find the place he’d found you last night and wait for him, so you’d done just that. It had only been about half an hour, you’d estimated, and you were willing to stay as long as it took.

The sudden sound of footsteps in the distance alerted you to another person, and you shone your flashlight in their direction. Standing in the beam was a person - him.

You stood up quickly, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Your excitement slowly turned to horror, however, when your eyes adjusted to the sight before you.

He was breathing heavily, arms readied at his sides like a cornered wild animal. Blood was dripping from his hands, soaking his jacket arms and spattered all over his clothes. In one of his hands, a hatchet was gripped. His glowing eyes were fixed on you.

 _”Oh yeah,”_ You thought stupidly. _”He’s a fucking murderer.”_

Of course you knew that already. But seeing him covered in blood, staring you down with his cold unflinching glare, it hit you with full impact. He had taken lives before, you’d seen their obituaries in the newspapers. There was a huge difference between that, and seeing him fresh off of a kill, in the flesh before you.

Your legs begged you to run. But you knew he would catch you if you did. Your brain raced with images of at best being arrested as an accomplice, at worst feeling the cold steel of his hatchet in your neck next.

That was when you noticed the hacked-apart deer carcass behind him.

A wave of relief crashed over you. He hadn’t just killed a person, it was just a deer. A horrifically mangled deer that was more than definitely overkilled, but a deer nonetheless. You looked away from it, staving off your nauseousness.

Suddenly, he came towards you, his shadow cast on the trees behind him growing like a transforming werewolf. You instinctively took a step backwards, trying to hold your ground while shaking like a leaf.

“You.” He growled.

It had only been a day since you’d heard his voice, but it still hit you as hard as it did last time. It was so course and naturally commanding.

_”You.”_

Fully upon you, he tackled you to the ground, pinning you to the grass that barely cushioned your fall. His breathing was shaky, like a revving hot rod motor. His grip tightened hard on your arms.

A thought dawned on you. Did he slaughter something, destroy something as fragile as a deer so completely and utterly...as foreplay? It definitely seemed to be working, if that was the case. The adrenaline flowing through him was palpable, and dangerously contagious. His entire body shook with emotion, like a caged tiger about to eat its keepers.

He released one arm, grasping the side of your face. The smell of blood was so strong now, and you could feel it dripping down your cheek as his gloved hand left streaks of red on you. He slipped his thumb into your mouth, pushing past your teeth to press on your tongue. The taste of iron overwhelmed your senses as you tried hard not to bite down on him instinctively. He hooked your lower jaw, pulling it downwards to open your mouth wider, pressing the pad of his finger onto your molar teeth.

You knew what he wanted. With your free hand, you hastily reached for his jeans and fumbled with the zipper. He unpinned you to help, freeing your other hand to helplessly hold onto his hip. He shifted his pants down, letting his hard cock fall out. Your eyes greedily took in the sight, watching it already throbbing with pent-up energy. He positioned himself on his knees, hands grasping the top of your head, fingers entangling roughly in your hair. You held onto his hips as hard as you could, like grabbing onto the horns of a bull.

In his frenzy, his first thrust missed your mouth and slid against your cheek. You tried to tilt your head to help, but he yanked your hair in response, causing a whine to escape your throat. The message was clear: you were to be nothing but a toy for him to use. You felt yourself melt into his grasp with a mixture of relinquished power and manic excitement, letting him fully guide your head. He pressed the tip of his dick to your mouth, and thrust into you.

You couldn’t help but choke, an embarrassingly audible gag coming from your throat. You tried to steady your breathing, remember any one of the blowjob tips you’d ever learned, but it was hard to think straight with the tip of his cock thrusting into your throat. All you could do was pray to every god you could think of that your jaw was wide enough that your teeth wouldn’t scrape him too much.

He guided your head roughly along with his hips, each thrust taking your lips all the way to the base of his length. Your core strength propping you up was already starting to give out, and you could feel tears starting to fall down your cheeks, but the feeling of being used by him fueled your desperation to keep up. You wanted so badly to be good for him, to perform well enough that he’d do it again. It was an ambrosian purpose, to be used by him - if he only needed you to be his dick warmer, at least you were needed by him.

His already fast pace quickened, becoming less steady and more ragged. You hummed with relief, knowing he must already be close, which caused him to buck wildly. With a thrust that pushed his cock all the way to the back, he exhaled in relief as you felt the wild sensation of cum entering your throat without having to swallow.

He let go of your hair, and you collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath and blinking your eyes to rid the tears. A trail of spit, sweat, and blood strung from his dick to your lips, and you realized that your mouth was probably also covered in it. You licked your lips, the combination of salt and metal covering your tongue. It tasted awful, but also so, so good.

You opened your eyes to see him still straddling you, having braced himself on the ground with his arms, looming over you as he recovered from his orgasm. Behind his mask, his own eyes were scrunched closed - it must have been a pretty powerful one for him, especially considering how quickly it had happened. He was still shaking, but his painting breath was becoming steadier, blowing puffs of steam from the glowing mouth holes of his mask. He’d just done something so savage, so carnal, and yet...in this moment, you couldn’t help but find him beautiful. Not beautiful like a gentle flower, but beautiful like a wolf taking down prey. It was the same emotion you got when looking at natural disasters: awe, and absolute terror, melting together into reverence. Surely he was not human, but a force - something so absolute and unstoppable that the will of any man could not budge him. And yet, the orgasm that you had just given him had brought him to his knees.

You reached up to his face, your heavy-feeling arm moving without your brain’s permission. You gently, fondly, ever so faintly, brushed the tips of your fingers against his mask, leaving smears of blood. He was made of flesh, a corporeal object in space. You could touch him without obliteration. He wasn’t a force, he was a person.

His eyes snapped open, and you knew you’d been too bold. He stood up, faltering slightly, clearly not fully back to his senses.

The nature of your relationship was not tender. It was not one of intimacy, of affection, of amorous face-touching. It was purely sexual, deeply mutually beneficial but devastatingly able to fall apart with the slightest pressure. You hoped he knew you understood that. You had to understand that.

You opened your mouth to say, _”I’m sorry, that was stupid of me, it’ll never happen again-”_ , but no words came out. Instead, you laid still, clutching your foolish hand to your chest.

Still breathing hard, he pulled his pants back up and picked up the hatchet that had fallen to the wayside. He turned away from you, facing the deer he apparently intended to finish butchering.

 _”Fuck.”_ You thought.

“Wait,” You said hesitantly. “Um, may I...do I have your permission to, um…”

He paused, waiting for you to complete your question. You swallowed.

“...could I watch you?”

He sighed.

“Ask me again.” He answered. “And add ‘sir.’”

Your heart skipped a beat. You remembered that as he left yesterday, you’d called him sir - he must have liked that.

“Please, could I watch...sir.” You said, feeling your face heat up.

“Fine.” He said shortly.

You let out a breath. You fucked up, but it wasn’t over. You were balanced on the edge of the knife, for a while longer at least.

You sat fully upright, realizing the dull pain you felt in your entire body. The position you’d been in had been a hell of an ab and jaw workout.

He didn’t face you, instead focusing his attention on the carcass. You glanced to see his hand flexing around the handle of his hatchet, letting the heavy blade swing in stride with his walk towards the deer.

Was it stupid to be a little jealous of a dead animal? You wanted him to look at you more. But you’d take what you could get - just the fact that he’d let you stay past the point of being useful to him was enough.

Without even a glance in your direction, he slid his jacket off, rolling his exposed shoulders as it shifted off his arms and to the ground. You watched his muscles, feeling an embarrassing amount of lust at such a simple action.

He glanced at you, and you sat up straighter. He sighed, ever so imperceptibly, and kicked his jacket in your direction.

“Cold night.” He said plainly.

You suddenly felt very cold indeed. Trying not to look too elated, you picked up his jacket and draped it around your arms. It engulfed you, being at least three sizes too big, but it was perfect. The ashy smell of smoke wafted from it, mixed with pine and the sharp scent of burning sap - his scent. It took everything in you to not inhale deeply into it.

He cracked his neck, rolling his back once more as he stepped to the deer.

It was a gruesome thing to watch. He was skilled with his blade, clearly knowing exactly how to butcher an animal for meat, and you knew that it was really no different than the meat you would find at your local market, but...there was something more sinister, watching him do this. That hatchet. His precise movements. The flayed skin and flesh and blood. He hadn’t only done this to deer, and you knew it. The thought made you feel queasy, but it was the truth.

You knew some of the details of his crimes, but only what the newspapers would print. Vague stories of dead neighbors drifted through your head. You didn’t really want to think about it, but the thoughts were irreversibly in your conscience now. He killed people, probably disposing of them in a very similar way to what you were witnessing currently, and you still fucked him. Twice.

The part that really made you feel ill was that this should really make you feel worse than you did.

It should make you want to run away, and never come back to this part of the forest. You should be scared for your life, mournful for the lives lost, and yet...these thoughts only made you huddle deeper inside of his warm jacket. Somehow...it was safe in there. It really shouldn’t be, but somehow, it was.

So you watched him cut up the deer carcass, and despite your better judgement, refusing to see it as anything but a deer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry jesus x2, hope you enjoyed?? I'm trying to be sexy and psychological at the same time.......I've never seen hannibal but I feel a spiritual connection


	3. The Most Dangerous Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains light bondage.

Wind rushed in your ears. Branches hit your arms and legs as you passed them, wildly trying to part the underbrush in your path. The rain had made the forest floor slippery with mud, and you struggled to keep your footing across patches of grass and rock as you ran.

You had no idea if he was getting close or not. The rain was too loud, the forest exploding with thunder and white noise like Hell itself was breaking loose. Every shadow that whipped by looked like him, every bush and boulder disguised as his crouching form. He was everywhere you looked, and yet nowhere at all, and more than definitely directly on your tail by now.

This was his game.

When you’d met him that night, he had instructions. He would give you ten minutes to run as far as possible. If he caught you, he would capture you.

There was no “if” for getting away, no prize to win. It was a foregone conclusion. Of course, he was much larger than you, more physically fit, and knew the forest better than you ever could. But more importantly, that wasn’t part of the game. It was your job to be caught. You were the caged fox being released into the woods full of hound dogs and men with guns on horseback. You were his to be captured.

The look in his eyes as he told you your task was burning like a forest fire. You were more sure then than ever before that he had the eyes of a hunter, sizing you up like he knew exactly which parts would taste the best. If he was carnivorous for you, then it would be no better use for your body than to be eaten up. That was the delicious part - anyone else who had faced this scenario surely had met their end at the point of a knife, or a chainsaw, or a hatchet. But the way he ate you was different from the way he ate others. You were his prey, but you would not die. Instead, you would be more alive than ever.

So you were running, feeling the fat drops of rain peck your face as you bolted as if your life depended on it. Because the fear and adrenaline would only make you more delicious for him.

A crack of lightning illuminated the dark woods, casting light on the trembling trees you dodged around. Your eyes wildly scanned the horizon, but to no avail - every silhouette could be him. You couldn’t decipher the thunder and rain from footsteps either, feeling as if he would be right behind you every time you glanced.

Suddenly, your ankle twisted, sending you flying into the ground. You crashed into the mud, struggling to get up but slipping even further. You feel something hit your back hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs. You whip your head around to see the silhouetted form of a person standing over you - him.

“Gotcha.” He growled.

The heel of his boot dug into your back, and a strike of lightning illuminated the rope he held taught in his hands. Your heart slammed in your chest, frozen while your brain caught up to your body. You tried to roll to the side, only just slipping from under his boot. You scrambled to get up, but he tackled you in place, holding you face down between his thick thighs. You fought as his hands gripped your wrists and tied the rope around them, binding your arms behind your back. Before any sound could escape you, you felt fabric over your mouth and nose, being tied firmly around your head. You felt yourself leave the ground as he scooped you up, hoisting you onto his shoulder. You tried to kick your legs in a fruitless attempt at freeing yourself, but he had you firmly slung up like a fresh kill.

It was a painful few minutes as he carried you, feeling the blood rushing to your head, the cold rain and wind biting your skin, and your twisted ankle stinging. When he finally paused, you looked around in the dark helplessly, as if you would be able to recognize anything about your surroundings. He dropped you onto the ground, and you realized that you were underneath something protecting you from the rain. You looked up to see a ledge of rock, probably the side of a boulder.

His gaze met yours, the fear and excitement in your eyes clearly only making him hungrier.

You whined. The gag didn’t prevent you from speaking physically, but psychologically, you were silenced excepting only the most primal of noises.

He had taken out his dick, warming it with his hand as he examined you. He paced, encircling you like a vulture, looming over you so entirely. You loved when he showed how much larger he was than you, dominating without even needing to say a word. His eyes trailed over you, trying to decide where to fuck you first.

He hoisted your hands to the air, straining them up behind your back and forcing your head downwards. You felt your wrists touch warmth; he frotted between your bound hands, holding them still by the rope like a leash. You tried to curl your fingers to help, grasping to brush your fingertips against some part of him, but it was no use. Your hands could only do what he commanded them to, and nothing more.

He dropped your hands, yanking your head up by the hair. His cock slid against your neck, frotting to your jaw and under your ear. He twisted your head so you could feel it against your lips, separated by the cloth gag. You felt intoxicated, wanting to feel his skin against yours, but curbed by the restraints he put on you - physically and mentally. He dragged his length across your face, letting you steep in the feeling of degradation. You lolled your head in his grip, feeling drunk off the scent of his warm heat. The needy feeling in your gut only grew with his teasing.

He reached to the gag, holding it for a moment as he looked you directly in the eyes.

“Shh.” He said, putting a finger to his mouth.

He tugged it off, letting it fall to your neck. His strong hand held your jaw open, returning the other hand to grip your hair. He placed the tip of his cock on your tongue, letting you taste the salt of his precum and sweat. You curled the flat of your tongue around it, feeling how good the warmth was in opposition to the cold air.

A noise escaped your throat as you took a breath. He immediately pulled out, pressing it hard into your cheek instead.

“I told you.” He growled. “Be quiet.”

He pried open your jaw again, letting just the tip touch your bottom lip. Your mind raced, and you were suddenly struck with just how enticing it was to be punished by him.

“P-please…” You said softly. “Please…”

He slammed your head all the way down, causing you to choke wildly.

“I said. Quiet.” His voice was low, rumbling from the back of his throat like a lion.

He pulled you off his dick, and you gasped for air. He released your hair, letting you fall back and breathe. Your heart pounded in your chest, wanting more of his frustration at your meager defiance. It was something so small, disobeying his simple command, but it made the adrenaline rush even faster through your veins. He wasn’t angry, at least his voice didn’t seem so - it was wild, almost excited, more like a hunter watching prey struggle in a trap. He must know you were truly caught if the best you could do to defy him was beg for more. He knew how badly you wanted him, and you would be happy to let him use that against you.

He pressed his boot to your chest, forcing you to lie down. The wind left your lungs as he sat on your chest, his dick laid against your collarbone. It was so warm, and you wanted to touch it so badly, but your hands were bound and pinned behind your back, uncomfortably positioned against your spine. He was so heavy, feeling like he was crushing you into the ground. He grinded against you, and you wished you had more pecs to pillow his cock with. His hand cupped his dick to your skin, pressing his palm into you and curling his fingers around the girth. If you thought he would let you, you would have loved to help, to do something to make him feel good - but the way he wanted to use you was like this, and there was nothing you could do about it.

As his strokes got more wild, less steady, he lifted his hips off of you, leaning forward and bracing one hand on the ground beside your head. You were sure you heard him swear under his breath. He thrusted into his hand with rapid strokes and came, letting it paint your face.

He must have really liked hearing you beg for him.

His ragged breathing slowed, his bucking hips twitching though it as he came down from the high. He sat upright, looking down at his work. You must have looked like such a wreck. Your hair was in tangles from being knotted at his fingers; your clothes, which were barely still clinging on to covering your body, were still sopping wet from the rain; your face was flushed deeply and a mess with his cum. He’d done a fine job of annihilating you.

Getting up off of you, he pulled on your shoulder to get you to sit up. He unfurled a knife from his belt and cut the binds off your wrists. You sighed and flexed your hands, rolling your back and neck with relief. You were surprised to feel his hand on your shirt, tugging it back into place on your shoulder.

You leaned back, looking up at him behind you. His eyes were stoic behind the mask, and yet...something about his expression was slightly different, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Before you could identify it, he looked away, pocketing the pieces of rope that had fallen. You wiped your face with your shirt, trying and failing to not psychoanalyze that or read anything into it.

You tried to stand, but stumbled. You’d forgotten about your twisted ankle, which was still stinging with pain. You let out a hiss, kneeling to get your weight off of it. You pointedly didn’t look at him, trying desperately not to show weakness, but you could feel his stare. You tried standing again, putting as little pressure on your ankle as you could.

Before you could even try to stand steady, you felt his hands on you, scooping you up into his arms. Your face went white hot, instinctively grabbing his neck for support. He was so warm, and you realized just how cold you were, sending a shiver down your entire body.

“I’ll take you to the edge of the forest.” He said, his tone seeming intentionally flatter than usual. “Figure it out from there.”

You nodded silently, breathing in the scent of his smoky leather jacket. How the fuck had you gotten so lucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy! please let me know any.......Requests you might have for chapters in the future in the comments, I am very open to suggestions


	4. And Mirrors

As you approached your usual meeting spot, a scent enveloped your senses.

His back was turned to you, showing the broadness of his shoulders behind his leather jacket. You realized as your eyes scanned him that instead of seeing the strap that held on his mask around the back of his head, it was wrapped around his elbow - he had his mask off. Your heart skipped a beat.

You’d daydreamed about what his face looked like. You were sure he’d be handsome, with what little you visual you had to go off of. His eyes were piercing, orange-tinted by his mask but probably a vibrant color of their own. You could see the stubble of a beard on his neck, and a carved jawline, but not much else. The mask only made him more alluring, of course, but seeing what laid behind it was a delicious thought.

He had sensed your presence approaching, and was keeping his head pointedly turned away. In his hand was a cigar, the smoke wafting from it in thin plumes. So that’s what had smelled so good - the scent of cigar smoke was something you’d always found strangely appealing. It was such a rich smell, full of flavor and depth. The smoke he was exhaling was masculine, smelling mostly of cedarwood and patchouli, almost having a hint of black pepper to it. His jacket, you remembered, had a similar lingering smell - cigars must be one of his more common vices.

“It smells amazing.” You said, trying not to peer around the side of his face.

You kept a respectful distance, knowing that even letting you see him like this was a measure of trust he’d never shown before. But damn, you were tempted to look, to see the eyes of the man you’d been entangling deeper and deeper with.

He hummed in agreement, blowing out a breath of smoke.

“...could I try it?” You asked.

You could sense his eyebrows raising without even having to see.

“You ever smoked before, kid?” He said.

You hadn’t, and it wasn’t exactly a habit you were planning on picking up. But the thought of something that his lips had touched against yours was making you feel insane.

“No, but...I want to know what it tastes like.” You said sheepishly; and it wasn’t technically a lie.

He paused, considering your request. You felt your heart sink as he unhooked his mask from his arm and slid it onto his face, keeping the buckle loose.

“Come here.” He commanded as he turned to you.

Of course you obeyed.

He guided you roughly to put your back against the tree he’d been leaning against. With an involuntary yelp leaving your lips, he lifted you up, hooking your legs on his waist. It was a familiar position to you, one you were happy to enter again. You held onto his shoulders for support as he let go, trusting you to hold onto him with your own strength.

His lit cigar still in one hand, he pushed up his mask just enough to expose his lips. Your eyes widened, trying to look at every detail before the moment passed - his lips were deeply cut with a long scar that ran down into a short beard, snowy white with age.

“Oh…” You said involuntarily.

It was barely half of his face, but it was so beautiful, so marred, you were transfixed on it. It was the same mixture of pleasure and pain that came with the entire package, distilled into physical form. Beautiful lips cracked in half by a scar.

He took a long drag of the cigar, inhaling the tobacco into his body. He gave a slight pause, letting the smoke enter his lungs. He pressed his thumb to your chin to keep your mouth open, and exhaled deeply.

A love potion couldn’t have been nearly as effective as this was. It made your stomach do several flips, feeling the smoke enter your body from his. The taste of burning tobacco and spice filled your senses. You were suddenly struck with the realization that you wanted more of your bodies to transfer to each other, as soon as possible. More smoke, more spit, more blood, just more of him inside of you, and more of you inside him - the thought made your heart pound.

You leaned forward into it. For a delicious moment, your lips were so close to each other that they could have touched. Before you could get too eager, he drew back for another inhale on the cigar. When he blew it out on you, you purposefully inhaled as much as possible, letting it cloud your thoughts. You felt like you were far up in the sky, lightheaded and only rising in altitude.

He held the cigar an inch away from your face, causing you to whine. If he pressed it in, it would surely leave a burn that would cause people to get suspicious. You wanted him to leave marks on you, to show his possession over your body, but the danger of being questioned for it was too risky. He seemed to know this, probably seeing you flinch away from it, and instead extinguished it on the tree next to your head, letting you feel the heat lick the side of your face before flicking it to the ground. You gripped his shoulders, eagerly anticipating whatever he wanted to do to you.

He pulled your shirt to the side with the audible popping of seams, exposing your collarbone. He leaned in, letting his hot breath dance on your skin, before nipping at your sternum with his teeth. Your fingertips dug into his shoulders, letting out a short gasp at the sensation. He trailed across your neck, teasing you only just enough to sting. He found his way to the fleshy muscle that connected your shoulder and neck, nipping at it a few times before biting down hard.

You couldn’t help the sounds escaping your throat, hands curling tightly to his neck. His teeth sinking into you and breaking your skin was the best kind of pain, the delicious kind that you would savor as long as he allowed it. He sucked on you hard, clearly trying to leave a bruise you’d be stressing to cover the day after.

When he pulled away, you did a double-take with your eyes. His chin was spattered with your blood, his stubbly golden-white beard caked with red - you hadn’t realized just how deep he’d bitten, the pain numbed with adrenaline. He licked his lips, and you shuddered, hoped he was relishing in the taste.

He pulled you off the tree, pushing you to the ground. His rough hands were surprisingly controlled as he pulled down your pants and lifted your hips. He leaned in, letting his teeth drag up your leg with small bites. He paused on your inner thigh, tantalizingly close to exactly where you wanted him to be, and bit down hard enough to leave a mark on the softest part of your muscle.

A thought hit you like a speeding train. What he’d done was more permanent than the wound that would fade as it healed. Whenever anyone, anything touched you there, from now on, the memory of this moment would replay in your head; the euphoria of his teeth against your skin, the bright feeling in your chest, the anticipation of being on the cusp of feeling his tongue against you, if he felt so merciful. You could press your fingers against your thigh and remember this sensation, as many times as you wanted to, forever and ever. For now, however, you were in the moment itself, feeling him leave a luscious bruise on your inner thigh, and it felt so good.

You whined as he pulled away for a moment, wanting more. You couldn’t tell if he’d broken the skin on your thigh, or if the blood was residual from your neck, but the pink bloom of a bruise was definitely forming visibly on your leg. He pressed on, nipping at your exposed stomach, grazing his teeth downwards.

The second his lips touched lower, it felt like a thousand fireworks going off at once. His beard scratched against your thighs as he licked a broad stripe across you, making your toes curl instinctively, your legs wrapping around his neck. He knew his way around a transmasculine body, for sure - he curved his tongue on the shaft of your clit, circling the tip languidly. It was enough to make you feel crazy. His strokes were sloppy, yet precise, like he knew exactly where each and every one of your nerve endings were.

“I’m-” You panted, trying not to buck into his mouth.

He hummed, pressing his entire mouth to you and sucking. It made you see stars, and before your brain could catch up, you came.

You didn’t know it was possible for him to make you feel even better than he did every night before. Yes, it felt amazing to be used by him, and you’d been brought to orgasm with that alone. But this time, he had done something that was only for you. You were sure he was enjoying himself, he wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t, but he didn’t _need_ to make you feel good too to do that. He could use you any way he wanted, and he knew that. Being used by him was mutually beneficial, sure; but self serving for him, in a way that made you feel wanted, maybe even needed. But what he had chosen tonight was to play to desires you didn’t even think he knew you had. This feeling was addictive, dangerously so. It made you want to be selfish, to dare to ask things of him. His hands were on the steering wheel, you were just the passenger, and yet...maybe, you could reach over to him. Maybe he was closer than you thought.

Your hips were still hiked into the air by his hands, feeling limp in his grip. His own jeans were slid to his knees, and you could feel his half-hard cock aligning against your stomach. If it were anyone else, you would feel too spent to take them, but for him it was different. He could fuck you whenever and wherever he wanted to, especially after servicing you like that.

You anticipated the feeling of the tip of his dick entering you, but it never came. Instead, he slid his hips back and thrusted, frotting across your clit.

Now that was dangerous.

You let out a breathy moan, your thigh muscles tightening. You understood now that this was still in service of you, but in a different way entirely. This was going to be a kind of torture - he was going to overstimulate you. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you knew the expression he was wearing without having to look - even behind the mask, his eyes shone with greed when he knew he was giving you the good kind of pain.

You could feel your stomach recoiling, reeling from trying to recover from the last orgasm but still building with the friction he was giving you. Your hands grasped the ground, trying to find stability. His strokes were unbearably languid, forcing you to feel every ounce of it, every inch of him, every second that ticked by - it was almost more painful than the bite on your shoulder.

“Please…” You begged, knowing it was fruitless to plead for mercy.

He pulled back, letting the tip of his cock brush against you, playing with the idea of getting it over with and fucking you - but of course, he let it slide back down across your clit, causing you to moan far louder than you’d intended. Your legs tried to tighten, to curl up into the fetal position and accept defeat, but you felt his hands gripping your thighs spread them open firmly. His thumb brushed against the bruise, and you gasped at the sensation. He tested your reaction, pressing into it again, which made your breathing hitch and tears form in your eyes. It hurt so, so good.

It only took a few more strokes for you to feel lightheaded again. It was embarrassingly fast, how quickly he could make you feel like this. Even just the thought of him made you weak at the knees, let alone his touch.

“I can’t-” You said, blinking back tears.

“You can.” He growled, his tone a command.

And he was damn right. With the purr of his voice, you jerked upwards, your vision becoming vague colors and shapes as another orgasm rolled through you.

Your stamina was completely drained. You felt your heartbeat pounding desperately, your limbs feeling like stuffed sacks of cotton. His hands were still lifting your hips to his, guiding you in time with his strokes. You bit down on your wrist, trying to stifle the sensations and obscene noises escaping your mouth.

“Shh.” He snarled, his eyes squeezing closed.

You were trying, truly, but even your breaths came out labored and ragged.

He was getting more unravelled himself, his grip tightening on you and his thrusts becoming faster.

“Fuck-” He hissed, slipping one hand to the ground to hold him upright.

He loomed over you, his head dipped low. You tried to hold your hips up for him, but your legs were shaky and unstable. Most of your energy was being used just trying not to pass out.

He bucked, letting his cock slide all the way from the tip to the base against you. A stream of cum burst out, landing on your stomach.

You let out a long breath as he pulled away, guiding your hips to the ground. You still felt like you were on fire, like your body was completely divorced from your brain. Your eyes hazily lingered over him, watching him heave heavy breaths like a wild animal fresh off a fight. You noticed a string of drool hanging from his lips, when it struck you just how fallen apart he’d become. His hand was still grasping the ground, fingers digging into the earth. His grip on your hip bone was so tight it threatened to shatter you. His arms shook like Atlas, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sweat was pouring down his neck, rolling down his exposed chest.

He had fucking _loved_ doing that to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to leave kink/prompt requests in the comments!


	5. Primal Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains blood.

You shivered as you approached your meeting spot, feeling tonight’s especially cold night air. Your eyes lit up when you saw him - he was sitting against a tree, his legs spread in a casual, yet domineering pose, ready and waiting.

Your pace quickened, eager to see what he had in store for you.

His arms were resting on his knees, and you could see clearer as you approached that he wasn’t wearing his usual fingerless gloves. Instead, on his hands were thick leather gloves, tipped with metal claws that protruded from each finger.

“Sit.” He said, gesturing to the space between his legs.

You felt your cheeks light with blush as you kneeled down, intimately close to him. You fit perfectly there, kneeling between his legs and looking up at his fiery eyes.

His hand raised to your chin, and you felt cold metal against your jaw. He dragged the claws down your throat, only just skimming the surface of your skin, but with the promise of something deeper. You arched into the touch, inhaling deeply.

“You see me as a wolf, don’t you?” He let his forefinger claw linger on the edge of your shirt.

Your breathing hitched. He waited to see if you’d respond, but words wouldn’t conjure.

He was a wolf, surely. Only wolves looked like that, their eyes examining food like every meal would be their last. He looked at you like you were the most delicious piece of meat he’d ever seen. You’d seen him hunt you down. You’d felt his teeth on your skin. He was a carnivore, a canine, an apex predator.

“...you’re right. I am a wolf.” He hooked the edge of his claw on the fabric.

You were more sure than ever that he could read your mind.

“And you...you want to be prey.” He said, just softly enough that you could hear the growl in his chest.

“Please-” You whispered.

The sharp of the claw pierced through, tearing a hole in the thin cloth. His eyes were fixed on yours, so hungry you felt you had to look away, like staring at the sun.

“You want to be prey. Say it.” He pulled harder, letting the hole grow.

“I-I want to be prey.” You breathed.

“Look at me. Louder.” He said.

You tore your gaze from the ground and looked at him. By god, his eyes were intense. You understood now why angels had to tell you not to be afraid. He shone even brighter than an angel ever could.

“Please,” You begged, your eyes fixed on his. “I want to be prey, for you.”

He grabbed your shirt, ripping into it hard. He ran a hand roughly through your hair, tilting your head up towards his. Goosebumps ran down your whole body.

“Good.” He purred.

You couldn’t help wondering if, just maybe, he wanted to give you a reminder of what your arrangement meant. You’d been getting closer, which was just as exciting as it was frightening. He’d shown you parts of himself you were sure nobody but you had gotten to see, at least not in years. Looking at him was like looking through a cracked window, all distorted shapes with the briefest glimpses of clarity. You would stare though the glass as long as it took to see what was on the other side; it beckoned to you, it wanted to be seen, deep down, you could just tell. It was an alluring picture. Whatever was on the other side, the ugly and the beautiful, you wanted to know. Sometimes, he seemed to want you to know.

But there was no sugar in the coffee to dull the bitter taste. You were predator and prey, formed by nature to eat each other in a never ending cycle. He wasn’t soft; he was all sharp edges and teeth and blades. You were prone flesh and ripe fruit. You liked his broken shards of glass, and trying to pick up his pieces would just get you cut. You had to know that. And yet…

The feeling of icy metal on your flesh broke your stream of thoughts.

He ran his hand around your neck, letting the claws only just barely scrape you, leaving light trails like shooting stars on your skin. You had the sudden urge to grab his hand and push in deeper, to force his claws to sink into you as physically as they did metaphorically. But you weren’t in control, he was. He could tease you as much as he wanted to, for as long as he desired, and you would do nothing to stop it.

He gripped your wrist, forcing it to his jeans. You obeyed his tacit commend, undoing the button and freeing his hardening cock. He hitched his fingers on the edge of your pants, sliding them downward. You greedily slid closer, lifting your legs over his to sit completely in his lap.

“Beg for it.” He said, the order rumbling from low in his chest.

His hand rested on your hip, the metal claw on his thumb snaking into your inner thigh.

“Please…” You said, voice hushed and raspy with need. “Please, make me your prey…”

”Beg.” He growled.

“Please! Please…” You choked. “I want you...I want you to...”

Words didn’t come easy to you around him. His complete dominance clouded your mind like the orange-lit fog that rolled from his mask. Your mind raced with images of his teeth on your neck, his claws raking into your back, his form enveloping you completely - the perfect scene of a kill, straight out of a nature documentary.

“I want...you to do anything to me…” Your shaky hands trailed up his chest. “Everything you do...feels so good…”

His hand on your thigh tightened, letting the claws press into your skin. You arched at the touch, legs spreading wider instinctively.

_”Please,”_ You said, his teasing unraveling all the knots in your body. “Please, sir, I want it, all of it, anything, everything-”

He whipped his claws away sharply, leaving angry red blazes on your skin. He snaked his hands under your shirt and grasped your shoulder blades with both hands, placing them so calculatingly, and pulled you into his chest. He was so warm you could break out in a sweat, like sitting too close to a campfire in the cold night air. You could feel the tip of his dick, fiery hot against you.

In a long, slow motion, he dragged the claws down your back, digging deep into your soft skin.

“Ah- f-fuck-” You said, voice a ragged mess.

His hands landed firmly on your lower back, and rolled your hips forward. You stifled a whimper as the head of his cock entered you - you’d forgotten just how thick and full he felt. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, curled with the intensity of it. His torso bowed ever so slightly into your touch. Your forefinger brushed the bolt on his collarbone, feeling the shock of metal on his skin. His grip tightened, letting the claws sink even deeper. Surely, he was the missing piece of you, for how perfect it was when your bodies interlocked.

He languidly guided your hips, claws digging in fiercely. You were almost entirely sure he was drawing blood, but it didn’t matter. You’d wear the wounds like a tiger’s stripes.

You buried your head deep into his chest, soaking in his smoky masculine scent. You pressed yourself as close as you possibly could be, every inch of bare skin touching his. He really had eaten you whole, your body synonymous with his. His touch melted you down to nothing but desire, no thoughts except those of him.

It was hard to keep his pace, your instinct to buck increasing each time his curved dick hit just the right places. There was something so gratifying, an itch perfectly scratched, about the juxtaposition; a slow, steady, intimate tempo that sent waves of pleasure through you, and the sharp, burning pain of metal claws raking into your flesh.

One of his hands trailed up your side, hiking up your shirt to the cold air. You shuddered wildly, trying to nuzzle deeper into his warm chest. His claws smoothly grazed your stomach, pushing you away, causing you to shiver. They trailed up towards your chest, before hitching on your collarbone, letting marks form in a row on your neck. His fingers trailed over the healing wound on your muscle where he’d bitten you, causing you to exhale sharply. It was _really_ hard to focus on your rolling hips when he did things like that.

“R-right there…” You breathed.

His satisfied eyes narrowed. He surely must be able to read your mind, for how he knew exactly what made you tick, and what could make you unravel.

His index finger claw traced the bite, swirling around the bruise like a vulture.

“You like when I mark you up, don’t you?” He purred.

You whined something like a “yes”.

It hurt so deeply, down to your inner core. The skin there was so tender, only just starting to heal from his teeth digging into you, leaving it as vulnerable as you felt on the inside. He knew this perfectly well as he danced his claws against it, sending shocks of electric pain that made your whole body shudder.

He let his hand snake to your neck, leaning forward and pressing his mask against you. The hot plumes of steam rolling off of him like a misty mountain threatened to burn you alive. His guiding hand was quickening your pace, letting your thrusts become hastier, more desirous. You couldn’t help it, feeling desperate and fast. You were a rabbit running from a fox, and your legs were starting to give out. He would win against you every time.

Before you could give him any warning, his dick hit just the right spot inside of you, and your vision blurred wildly as the coil inside of you came undone.

He hummed in your ear like an alligator’s bellow, all deep and low and goosebump-inducingly primal, proud of the quick work he’d made of you.

Both of his hands clutched your hips, forcing them to keep moving. You did your best to all but collapse in his arms, letting his firm grip do most of the work while you caught your breath.

His face pressed against your neck, a threatening reminder of his danger. All that laid between your skin and his mouth was a mask, and you knew he could make good on the promise of sinking his teeth in. You craned your head to the side, letting him burrow in deeper. You would swallow up all of his danger, absorb as much of it as you could. It felt so good in your veins.

With a sudden jerk, he lifted you upwards, pulling you off his cock - he had pulled out just in time for cum to land on your inner thighs. You knew it was for the benefit of both of you, but your mind still swam with the idea of him creampieing you one day, how good it would feel for even more of him to be inside of you. It was damn tempting.

When he released you, you felt the claws pull out of your flesh. You weren’t 100% sure before because of the adrenaline, but now you were - he’d _definitely_ left some serious gashes on you.

You cautiously put your hand to his wrist, guiding it in front of your face. Your suspicions were confirmed - the fingertips of the glove were stained with blood. Your blood. His wild eyes stared at you intensely through his parted fingers, like he was waiting for your reaction. A whirlwind of emotions running through your veins, you acted on your base curious instincts, and brought his hand to your mouth, running your tongue on the sharp clawed tip of his index finger. The flavor was metallic, almost bitterly so. He watched you hungrily.

“For prey...you sure have the tastes of a carnivore.” He said, his voice rolling from low in his chest.

You looked up at him, locking eyes.

Given what you’d just done, you were pretty sure that the nature of your arrangement was firmly set that you were the prey, and he was the predator. It was how he liked you. You were more than happy to satisfy his need to consume. But when he compared you to a carnivore, a meat eater like him...it almost sounded like a compliment.

He pulled his hand from your mouth, placing it firmly on your back and pulling you close to his chest. You shivered, realizing just how cold you were against his warm body. He was soothingly hot, like a heated blanket in the dead of December. You buried your head as deep as you could in him, letting the warm heat your chilled bones. You’d savor any measure of intimacy he gave you. And this time, the claws resting on your back didn’t dig in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not that these aren't all very self indulgent, but this one is especially so......hope you enjoyed!


	6. The Reins

To your surprise, he was lying down when you arrived that night. His head was pillowed casually by his hands, his arms stretched behind him. His eyes watched you intently as you approached.

“Sit.” He said, his voice coming from low in his chest.

You obeyed, dropping to your knees next to him curiously.

He looked at you expectantly, a moment passing between you. You fidgeted your hands in your lap. You knew he wasn’t exactly the talkative type, but you’d love an explanation of what he was looking for here.

He sighed, grabbing your hand and pulling it to his stomach. You blinked. He pressed it harder.

You felt a blush enter your face. You were pretty sure you could figure out what he was asking, even though it took your brain a moment to catch up. He wanted you to take care of him tonight. He wanted to lie there as you did the work.

Your heartbeat thumped in your chest. That was a _lot_ of pressure.

You reached for his jeans, but found yourself stopped suddenly by his hand squeezing hard on your wrist. You hissed shortly, the pain taking you by surprise.

“No. Too fast.” He said in a growl. “Slow down.”

You nodded at his command, and he released your hand. At least that confirmed your suspicion. It was almost a relief to be punished - being told exactly what to do would definitely be easier than complete free will, but being told what _not_ to do was good enough. Your eyes trailed over his body. He had laid out a buffet for you, every inch of him looking more delicious than the last, and you were starving, overwhelmed with choice.

You carefully pressed your hand to his chest, letting your hand rest between his pecs. He was so hot to the touch, feeling more alive than any person you’d ever touched before. Your fingertips instinctively found a familiar place on the warm studs pierced into his collarbone. It was predictable, but a safe way to start. You reveled in the small victory of knowing something he’d love, seeing his eyes close behind the mask. With fascination, you ran your fingertip in a circle around the piercing, tracing the edge where metal met flesh. You’d never gotten to really examine them before, only having played with them in the heat of the moment. They were firmly embedded in his skin, almost like little nodes for electricity. You wanted to ask him where, when, why he’d gotten them - but you could tell he wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. The skin around the edges had grown over them slightly; they’d been there a long time, at least. You wondered why it felt so good for him - maybe he had a piercing kink? Maybe they were attached to a nerve or something? Or maybe...maybe he just liked to be touched. It might have been hard to imagine such a massive, intimidating person having the desire to be touched, but you knew him better than that.

You knew him better. The thought made your heart leap.

Not only did he like being touched, he wanted you to touch him. He had laid down in front of you and _demanded_ to be touched. It was the softest thing you’d ever seen him do, like seeing the exposed underbelly of a crocodile.

Feeling slightly emboldened, you cautiously stepped over him, weaving your legs together and resting your weight on his thigh. If he objected to this, he certainly would have made it clear - instead, he just laid there, his chest rising and falling with breath.

It was so strange, being on top of him like this. Though it was unfamiliar territory, controlling what was happening, the power was still firmly his. Your mind raced with ideas of acting up, of being punished harder for doing something he wouldn’t like. Maybe you’d be so bold.

“Keep going.” He commanded.

Any thoughts of being a brat snapped directly out of your head with his stern voice. Your hands trailed onto his lower chest, feeling his warmth beneath the fabric of his shirt. He was so broad, so strong, it felt unreal. He was firm, hardened by a life you couldn’t even imagine, yet his skin was so soft, even with its mars of scars and nicks. You flexed your hands down the sides of his torso, feeling along the stripes of muscles, running back up to his pecs.

Your face burned wildly with blush. If you could crack open his chest with your thumbs and curl up under his ribs, you would. Being on the outside of his body wasn’t enough for you. You wished he could envelope you.

“You’re so…” You breathed, the words escaping you involuntarily with the sudden rush of emotions you felt.

His eyes fluttered open, looking at you expectantly.

You felt your face deepen with embarrassment. There were so many thoughts you had about him that stayed very firmly in your head, thoughts you were so afraid would force him away. Feeling sexual about him was par, it was the blood of your relationship. But the breath on the back of your neck of a looming beast was getting harder to ignore. You wanted to _know_ him, not just biblically. He’d already exposed so much to you, it was greedy to want more, and yet...worshipping his body only made your hunger for it grow. He was letting you savor him in a way he’d never done before. It should have been good enough for you.

He was waiting for you to finish your thought. Your gaze couldn’t meet his, but you could feel him staring.

“You’re just so...perfect…” You said carefully, your hands feeling hot on his chest.

His stare was as unreadable as ever.

You bit your lip and silently let your fingers trail up his biceps under his jacket, feeling the electric spark of his skin against yours. If you let any more words come out of your mouth, you’d regret them. You’d meant it - he was perfect. He was the demonic answer to all of your angelic prayers. His ferocity, his intensity, his raw power, all beneath the surface of a man who was letting you pet him like a tamed wolf. His arms were so firm, clearly possessing the strength to rip you apart - your heart skipped a beat just picturing it - but instead, they laid still, in favor of a different kind of gratification altogether. At first, he’d felt like a time bomb, and you had resigned that you would play with the wires and buttons until it exploded. But lately, it’d felt...different. A scary kind of different. More like a feral animal that was trusting you with its head in your lap. You were sure he was the one keeping you on a collar, but it was dawning on you with an equal measure of fear and excitement that leashes can be pulled from either end.

The train of thought sent a physical shiver down your spine. You looked to see if he’d react, but his eyes were closed again.

You slipped your hands out from under his jacket, tracing your thumb on the slashed holes in his shirt. The urge to rip them open washed over you so suddenly that you had to move your hands away. Being measured didn’t come easy around him. You were actively fighting off desperation, the desire to tear into him, for him to tear into you. He wanted you to take your time, to make him feel good, but without him physically restraining you, it was hard to hold back. He just made you _feel_ so much it hurt.

You ran your hands on his stomach, feeling under his shirt for his solid muscles and scars. As your fingers weaved through the thick of hair that striped down his belly, your eyes wandered to the front of his jeans. Your heart skipped several beats as you saw that you were pretty sure he was starting to get hard. You pressed your knee gingerly to the peak of denim, feeling the warmth even through the thick fabric, testing your theory. Sure enough, you were met with a ridge against your knee. He let out a low breath, exhaling steam from his mask.

There was that sound you loved. The sound of his breath, rumbling from deep in his chest. You could feel the vibrations of it on your hands pressed to him, like the purring of a tiger. He purred for _you_ , and you were only getting started. It was the best sound in the whole world, and it physically hurt you with how much you wanted to hear it more.

Your fingertips dragged across his stomach, feeling cold as they briefly left contact with him. Carefully, you placed your hand on the fly of his jeans. Your fingers snaked under the hem, feeling the heat of his skin. You sucked in a breath - touching his cock made a bolt of electricity fire through you.

You glanced at his face, looking for approval. His eyes were still closed, looking as nonchalant as before. His only tell was his breathing, which was rising and falling in his chest with purpose now, like he was focusing. It was beautiful. He was beautiful, every square inch of him.

“Don’t stop.” He mumbled, peering open an eye at you.

You fumbled for his jeans zipper, realizing you’d paused a bit too long. Seeing him relaxed was distracting. It made you feel...trusted.

You pried down his pants, letting free his hardening dick. Your hand flexed on it, feeling the ridges of veins and soft skin. You loved how your hand fit around him, so thick your fingertips and thumb just overlapped. It wouldn’t take much teasing to get him to cum, you could tell - precum dripped obscenely down your fingers as you stroked up his length. The way he was already so aroused, just from your hands on his skin, made you swell with an emotion you weren’t even sure how to begin to describe. It filled you up to the brim.

With another stroke upwards, you brushed your thumb on the head, causing him to sigh again. You couldn’t resist leaning down, resting your head on his chest, desperately wanting to feel the growl of his breath. It was like thunder - powerful, fearsome, and yet comforting, all at once. Your hand had barely any room to move, being pressed between his body and yours, but it didn’t matter. You felt his legs tensing underneath you. His hips bucked ever so slightly as he came into your hand, letting out a deliciously gratified breath that rumbled in your ears.

You rose from his chest, looking at your hand. Before your brain could give any input, you raised your finger to your mouth, licking his cum off of you like a grooming cat. It was a familiar taste - not a good one, really, but one you loved anyway.

His eyes were fixed on you when you glanced up to look at him. His intense, glowing, roguishly handsome eyes. You suddenly felt extremely aware of his thigh between your legs. _Desperately_ aware.

You couldn’t help your hips rolling as you looked away with embarrassment.

“Um…” You said, your voice hoarse. “I want to...can I, please…”

He surveyed you, considering your unspoken request. A squeak left your throat as he sat up suddenly, placing his hand firmly on your lower back.

“Go ahead.” He said, like commanding a dog to eat.

You melted into his touch. He was being so damn gentle, holding you like that, it sent a tsunami wave of bliss through you. Your fists curled into the back of his jacket, your head buried in his chest.

You dragged your hips forward to frot on his leg, letting the friction light your gut on fire. A long, shaky breath left your lips. His hand rested on your back, guiding you ever so slightly. You buried your face deeper, feeling white-hot with shame. You couldn’t help it, rutting like an animal in heat against him. It felt so good, your brain felt like it was going to go numb.

“You’re gonna come just from this, aren’t you.” He whispered into your ear, his voice soft and yet still harsh like a mean shot of alcohol. “Just from fucking my leg.”

You pressed your forehead as hard as you could into his chest. He was right, so painfully, desperately right. It was pathetic, how little he needed to do to you. Hell, just the thought of grinding against him would probably have been enough for you.

His other hand weaved into your hair, gripping your locks and forcing your head outward. He looked down at you, his piercing orange glare going straight through your eyes and into your soul.

“Look at me, boy.” He said.

As if you had a choice. He was everywhere you looked, your cloudy vision seeing streaks of orange light and blurs of scarred skin. You saw him when you closed your eyes, you saw him when you fell asleep - he was in every flash of light, every motion, every shadow. Thoughts were flowing through your head like a waterfall, all of them of him.

As your eyes met his, you felt his grip tighten on your back. You must have looked so wrecked. You couldn’t find the words to tell him how he made you feel, but maybe he could understand them anyway. Your face must have been an open book. There was no hiding it.

His hand guided you back and forth, letting the friction alight you so much it almost hurt. You were only just barely steadied by him, feeling like any moment you would explode. You felt his fingers digging into you wander lower, letting them slip downwards, just brushing between your legs over your pants—

The coil inside of you released. He held you still as you shook through it, his hand pressing your head firmly to his chest. For a blissful moment, all you knew was floating shapes and colors, and the scent of his smoky leather jacket.

He exhaled what almost could have been mistaken for a small, breathy laugh. It brought you crashing back down to reality, the embarrassment seeping through your veins. You were no better than an animal in heat around him. He didn’t even need to do anything to you to make you feel insane, like nothing else in the world mattered except chasing pleasure in his arms.

“That didn’t take you long, huh?” He said, his words biting into you.

You didn’t know how to answer, if you should even answer at all. His tone was so hard to read, but maybe, he almost sounded...pleased. Satisfied, in the same way a lion is after a full meal. He knew he’d eaten you whole. His hands felt so warm on you, and held you so firmly, they might as well have been the paws of a predator. Even with how intimate you’d been, there was still the feeling of an underlying power. The way you curled in his embrace felt _perfect_ , like his arms were made to hold you there. He could do it gently, or he could crush you with his full strength; you would love it either way. But the way he held you tonight, the tight interlocking of your bodies, without the violence...you thought it would satisfy you, but it only made you hungrier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [thinks about S76 calling someone "boy" in a diminutive way and passes away on the spot]


End file.
